


Knotting Hill

by amybeegood



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Daddy Kink, Desperate Housewives setting, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gangster/Mafia (American), Reylo - Freeform, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-09-21 06:43:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17038721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amybeegood/pseuds/amybeegood
Summary: In the quiet little town of Fairview nothing is as it seems...A smutty A/B/O fic as promised for my wonderful Clop Clop sisters.Knotting Hill playlist on Spotify.





	1. The Naughty List

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Audrey4ever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Audrey4ever/gifts), [veemarie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veemarie/gifts), [ReyloWarrior](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReyloWarrior/gifts), [JenfysNest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenfysNest/gifts).



> A special thanks to my amazing Knotting Hill Advisory Squad for beta-ing, supporting, and guiding me on this deliciously smutty journey: @Audrey4ever, @veemarie, @ReyloWarrior, and @JenfysNest. Ya'll are the bomb.com.

# Chapter One - The Naughty List

 

_Breaking into a house on Christmas Eve is definitely not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. But, my dad always told me I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to resisting my reckless impulses._

_I am an Alpha, after all._

_Which is why I need to be careful this time._

_I know my uncle will be out for the evening, spending his time at the Homeless Shelter serving soup and tucking blankets around the needy people in the community. I know Luke will be there the whole night and not get back home until late tomorrow morning because he’s done the same damn thing every Christmas since I can remember._

_And while my uncle’s altruism is admirable, his predictability is too irresistible to ignore._

_Luke Skywalker is keeping something that belongs to me. Something I need to retrieve._

_Immediately._

_Luke left himself wide open this time…I don’t even feel bad...he should know better._

 

Rey listens to the Christmas music playing lightly in the background and knows she will have dreams of mistletoe dancing in her head, vaguely brought on by the Hallmark Christmas movie marathon to which she’s just treated herself.

Luke’s house on Wisteria Lane is the perfect setting for cozying up to a warm fire, drinking hot cocoa, and staring into the beautifully decorated tree, lit with baubles and tinsel and dreams of a Merry Christmas.

The whole neighborhood looks exactly like a Christmas card, too, all lights and wreaths, and pretty trees in the windows. Luke’s house is just like all the others, and Rey feels a sense of well-being as she putters around amidst the smells of snickerdoodles and fir tree and a little bit of Luke himself:  A combination of damp moss and dusty feet and smoky, spicy incense. Like old, comfortable hippie.

Although Luke is an Alpha, Rey never worries about things being weird between them. She learned after working with him closely how he practices Jedi meditation and abstinence as part of his deeply-rooted religious beliefs.

Luke is probably the least threatening person she’s ever met, regardless of designation. And one of the kindest, most considerate people, too.

She met Luke Skywalker just over a year ago at the Homeless Shelter where she works, and he’s become a sort of mentor to her. Luke’s philanthropy is well-established in their little town, and Rey, coming from the big city, feels her anonymity dissolve in the presence of one of the town’s most upright citizens.

As their friendship grows, Rey finds Luke something of an enigma.

After getting to know him, she’s let him become sort of the father she’s always wanted.

He has all the typical qualities of an Alpha: Strong will, commanding presence, shrewd mind, diligent work ethic. But most importantly, he always has the town’s citizens in his heart, and Rey can tell Luke is genuinely fond of her, too.

And her status as an Omega becomes a little less _pronounced_ in the small community… Somehow the rarity of it is not such a big deal in Fairview.

So, when Luke asks her if she will stay at his house on Christmas Eve to “keep an eye on the place” she only hesitates a little.

She really should be helping at the shelter, she argues, knowing they will need all hands on deck for one of their busiest nights of the year.

Luke soothes her guilty conscience by pointing out how tirelessly she’s worked over the past few months.

After a bit of prodding – Luke’s strong will can transform quickly into downright stubbornness if she doesn’t acquiesce eventually – she agrees to spend the night on his sofa and keep an eye on the place, whatever that means.

Besides, she feels less isolated here at Luke’s than at her lonely little apartment…

However, Luke sounds as if he is expecting a break-in or something, so she has her .38 tucked under the couch, just in case. A remnant of her old life in the city where she lived in a not-so-great neighborhood.

Her past is long-forgotten now, however, as she dozes quietly in the tranquil atmosphere of lingering Hallmark romance and softly twinkling lights on the tree.

Luke has even hung a stocking for her, which brings a tear to her eye. Nobody has ever done such a thing for her.

She grins happily at the red velvet lined with white faux fur and her name outlined in glitter…

On an impulse, she goes to the kitchen and finds some freshly-baked snickerdoodles.

She pours a glass of milk and places a few cookies on a plate, setting them on the coffee table in an age-old tradition she’s never indulged in before.

 _Now, if Santa comes, he’ll have something to munch on,_ she thinks dreamily, as she pulls up a blanket and dozes off staring into the fireplace, enchanted with the glowing embers and the warm light in her heart, full of Christmas spirit.

 

Ben Solo approaches his uncle’s house warily, noting the lights are mostly off, except for the tree in the window.

A wisp of smoke from the chimney catches his nose, but Ben is sure Luke will not be there. The smoke is probably just from the fire dying from hours ago when Luke trundled out the back door to head for the shelter, predictable as a clock.

Nevertheless, Ben keeps an eye on the house and waits in his car until the neighborhood settles down for the evening.

And, just in case anyone sees him lurking, he has the perfect disguise.

The digital clock on the dash of his car tells him it is eleven o’clock when he finally opens the door and steps into the chill night air.

His Santa Claus suit is not terribly warm, but Ben doesn’t feel cold at all as a tingle of anticipation crawls over his skin.

Adrenaline.

_Get in, get what you’re looking for, get out. Don’t get caught._

Simple enough.

He stealthily makes his way to the back of the house and finds the key to the back door under the mat.

Maybe it will be a Merry Christmas, after all.

 _Living in a small town has advantages_ , Ben thinks smugly, _like people being way too trusting for their own good…_

He quietly opens the door and steps into the kitchen, looking around. While he is sure Luke is out for the evening, Ben’s natural caution warns him to stay alert.

He sniffs the air…and smells something…

Something mouthwateringly delicious filters through his nose and he sniffs again.

So…fucking _appetizing_ …

Every neuron in his brain begins to fire at the sure knowledge an Omega is nearby. Here. In this house.

Animal instinct overrides his plans to stealthily raid the house in search of the thing Luke is hiding and find the source of that sweet, sweet scent, instead…

Silently, he prowls through the kitchen into the living room.

The room is warm and cozy, lit only by the Christmas tree at the window and the dying embers in the fireplace. The tantalizing scent is much stronger, now, almost unbearably enticing, and Ben glances around briefly, but his attention turns to an odd sight on the coffee table.

Ben gives the room another perfunctory glance before he glimpses the milk and cookies. Snickerdoodles. His absolute favorite.

His stomach growls, and he realizes he hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

Unable to resist, he snags a cookie off the plate and dunks it in the still-cold milk.

He is halfway through the last cookie when he hears the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked and a soft female voice warning him to freeze.

_Oh, shit._

 

“Turn around,” Rey commands the very tall, very broad-shouldered person wearing a Santa suit.

His scent hits her like a blast wave.

An Alpha…and he smells amazing…and _familiar_.

She tries to focus. She’s smelled this particular scent once before, right after she visited Luke’s house for the first time.

When she asked Luke about it, he told her cryptically his nephew Ben just left and changed the subject.

But the memory of _Ben’s_ scent haunts her dreams for months _…an alluring woodsy-ness, like freshly turned earth, and cedar, and clove and…just a hint of gunpowder…and sex…_

Still holding the glass of milk, the intruder lifts his arms in the universal gesture of surrender, but Rey’s heart only beats faster as she meets the burning stare of…

Yes. It’s Ben Solo. Black sheep of the family, according to Luke. Luke has mentioned him a few times, always referring rather vaguely to his nephew’s line of work, even though Rey knows for a fact Luke’s nephew is in the mob.

She overheard Luke talking about it once.

“What the fuck are _you_ doing here?” she whispers, incredulous fury and panic rolling through her at the sight of _him_ munching on cookies as casually as if he owns the place.

_Why the fuck is he wearing a Santa suit?_

_What the hell is this?_

_Omigod he smells so incredible. Oh, damn._

She surveys him curiously, but keeps the gun trained on him with unwavering austerity.

“What the hell are you doing here, Ben Solo?” Rey asks again.

“I’m robbing the place, what does it look like, _Omega?_ ” he retorts.

He sounds a bit defensive. He was obviously not expecting anyone to be here.

“The hell you are,” she hurls back at him. “Not on my watch.”

She tries very hard not to notice the intoxicating, nearly overpowering scent of him.

_Oh. Fuck._

How the heck is she going to explain to Luke she’s busted an intruder and it happens to be his nephew?

“Is that thing fucking loaded, baby?” Ben's eyes glitter with harnessed authority, and the false beard does absolutely nothing to diminish his commanding presence.

The way that pet name rolls off his tongue… He might as well just call her _Omega_ again and be done with it.

She nods an affirmative, unable to resist the instinctive call of primordial biology to _answer him_.  

Her guts are turning inside out under the heat of his glare. Even through the Santa Claus getup, he’s quite something.

Dark hair curls from beneath the ridiculous hat and fake beard, and Rey flicks her gaze over the red velvet of the pants and jacket, admiring the way his broad shoulders and his thickly muscled chest stretch the costume’s fabric, straining the buttons…

He is built like a brick shithouse.

_Oh, dammit, he smells good…I want to lick him all over until his scent coats my tongue and..._

Her eyes meet his and she feels a blush creep over her cheeks as realizes he can see her immediate, intense attraction to him.

Which should not be such a _thing_ , given the massive amount of suppressants she is taking right now.

The drugs might as well be Mentos for all the good they are doing her.

Which is going to make this next part even more difficult.

She has no way to restrain him until the police arrive. So, she will just have to make do.

 

Ben watches understanding wash over her pretty face when she comprehends the only way to keep him there is to keep that gun pointed straight at his head.

Her aim looks pretty steady, and he doesn’t want to risk getting shot in the face trying to tackle her.

She doesn’t look too rattled…just determined. And he can’t explain what he is doing there…

He curses himself for thinking Luke would be so foolish as to leave his house unguarded.  

 _Chalk up a point to you, Uncle Luke,_ Ben thinks bitterly.

He languidly runs his eyes over _her_ again. She appears unflustered and he can’t get a read on her at all.

_How interesting._

Ben never gets anything but total, immediate submission from most Omegas. Or from most anyone, for that matter.

This girl, though. She looks like she will very much shoot him dead if he moves. But...

_If she even twitches, I will pounce… and oh, how I want to pounce on her…_

Because she smells like _heaven._  Like cinnamon and citrus and warm cookies and willing, compliant heat and submission and wet, tight arousal…

He licks his lips, watching her eyes follow his tongue as he slowly traces his bottom lip before pursing his mouth at her invitingly…

She is all long, lean legs and wide, hazel eyes, her cold ferocity blending with near-childlike interest. Ben feels a surge of heat crawl over his chest as he stares into those eyes… He imagines the way they will darken with an almost painful gratitude when he makes her come so hard she screams while her body shudders beneath him.

He sweeps another, more thorough glance over her, and his dick twitches eagerly at the sight of her breasts outlined through her t-shirt.

_She’s not wearing a bra and her fucking nipples are hard...Fuck._

“You really willing to shoot me?” he asks in his gravelliest, most intimidating voice, trying to discern just how ruthless she will be in holding him there…

But, Luke will not have left some helpless child in charge of his house. And Ben can see full well this particular girl is far from helpless.

Even if she knows he is the nephew of the owner of this place. Even if he can see the flicker of conflict as she fights her own biological urges to let him…take whatever he wants.

She doesn’t budge an inch, training the gun on him with a cold-blooded resolve that belies her innocent appearance and obvious fluster at his overpowering scent.

He sniffs the air with a low-throated growl, a visible acknowledgement of their mutual predicament. Sexual tension lingers heavily between them.  

She licks her lips, now, and he has to bite his own to keep himself from moaning at the sexy sight of her pink tongue and wet mouth…

“Strip down, _Santa,_ ” she finally hisses.

“Uhhhh…. _what?_ ” Surprise tinges his voice. Omegas do not give orders. They _take_ orders.

“Take your clothes off. And toss ‘em on the sofa…” she repeats, her voice iron-hard.

_Oh. She thinks I won’t run  off if I’m naked? Ha. Okay._

“You sure about that, baby girl?” he mutters, letting his gaze roam over her again, a bit more explicitly.

He takes a deep breath and lets her see how her nearness affects him.

Other than a twitch of her eyelid, she reveals nothing.

_How very, very interesting…_

 

Rey _isn’t_ sure. But she doesn’t have any other bright ideas at the moment, as fury crowds out her common sense with a hot sting and the scent of his body assails her with potent aggression.

She fights the urge to lower the gun, to kneel in front of him…to beg him to fuck her…

She keeps the gun trained on him, not sure what to do.

She has him for now, but then what? She can’t stand like this all night.

She knows for a fact if she gets within arm’s reach of him, he’ll disarm her for sure.

And she figures if he is buck-ass naked, he might just be a little bit less likely to run off before he can explain himself.

But her belly is already fluttering at the smoldering dark eyes and she feels a different kind of heat creep into her veins…

Furious with herself, now, more than anything, she gestures with the gun and repeats herself for the third time, “Take. Off. The. Suit.”

He raises his eyebrows and slowly sets the glass of milk on the coffee table between them. He pulls off the red hat and tosses it aside.

Even temporarily submissive, he emanates total confidence.

Her breath catches in her chest as he peels the fake beard over his head to reveal a closely-groomed goatee. He glowers at her with such intensity it makes her wet with slick.

_Oh, shit, he’s so fucking gorgeous and he smells so delicious._

“You okay, baby? You look a little…distracted…” he purrs carefully. He licks his lips again and she clenches her thighs together.

_Oh, he knows exactly what he is doing._

She mentally shakes herself and tries to focus on the problem at hand.

He starts unbuttoning his costume, and Rey feels a bit…indecent. Like she is watching a strip tease, not stopping a criminal mid-break-in.

He speaks again, and his words send a clutching ache of lust straight to her core.

“You wanna see me naked, huh?” He shakes his head and clucks his tongue at her, teasing and dead serious at the same time. “Okay. You can have whatever you want…”

He finishes unbuttoning the jacket and peels it off to reveal a tight white t-shirt covering his fabulously sculpted pecs. The tiniest whimper escapes her lips at the sight. 

“Wanna come sit in my lap, baby? Tell me what you really want for Christmas?”

His eyes smolder now, locked on hers so intently she can’t look away as he flings his jacket to the side.

It suddenly feels like the room is two-hundred degrees…

She swallows and keeps her voice calm. “That too.”

He looks down at his t-shirt and gives her a wicked grin.

“Ohhhh, baby girl, you are definitely on the Naughty List,” he breathes, pulling his t-shirt from the waistband of his red pants and stripping it over his head as casually as if he is alone.

His muscles flex and bunch in the firelight and Rey gasps just a bit.

_Oh, crap. Crap, this is a bad idea…_

But he isn’t stopping. He wears black, military-style boots under his pants and Rey tries and fails not to notice how his arm muscles move as he leans over to untie his boots and kick them off, followed by his socks.

He really has lovely feet. Huge, lovely feet.

“You sure you want me to keep going?” he asks silkily, drawing her attention to his abs as he tugs on the waistband of his suit.

Her eyes fix on the line of dark hair trailing from his belly button down into the waistband...

She nods. She is sure.

Her mouth is dry, and she feels like she has a fever.

It is impossibly, ridiculously hot in here.

Ben pushes his tongue over his bottom lip and pulls the waistband of his pants over his hips, watching as her eyes darken with desire at the sight of him.

She’s almost panting now…

He wonders if he can take the gun from her, so he can get out of this damned situation before his uncle comes home.

“You think you’re in charge right now?” he murmurs cajolingly.

“Um. I have a gun pointed at your head, so yeah.” 

_No fucking way, baby. I’m the boss. As you are about to find out._

Unfortunately for him, the hand holding the gun is rock-steady. And he fucking loves it. This is something he has never encountered before. The challenge is…unbelievably appealing.

_Damn. Who is this girl?_

The only hint, the only clue she is not as composed as she appears is the heavy scent of arousal wafting off her…and then her eyes drop over him again in momentary distraction.

 _It is going to be a very Merry Christmas, indeed_ , he thinks. Right before he pounces on her.


	2. The Nice List

# Chapter Two - The Nice List

 

_I am the world’s lightest sleeper for reasons I won’t go into just yet. Let’s just say I’ve still not forgotten the importance of trusting my gut and staying vigilant. I’ve had so many close calls, the lesson has practically been branded into my skin…_

_So tonight, as I begin to doze, when I hear the backdoor creak open I can only sense extreme danger. And I know it isn’t Luke._

_I silently roll off the sofa, grab my gun, and slip into Luke’s study, just off the living room._

_I can hear someone moving into the room behind me, a clink of a glass, a mirthless chuckle._

_A man is out there, just on the other side of the door. I think it might be an Alpha. I’m sure he can probably smell me… He’ll find me…_

_Dammit, Luke._

_Maybe calling 9-1-1 is overreacting. But I lived in one of the scariest districts in the country before I came to Fairview._

_No. That wasn’t living. That was surviving. Nobody ever really “lives” in Knotting Hill…_

_And even though I am now in one of the most boring suburbs in the one of the most boring neighborhoods of all time…I am not taking any chances._

_Luke was definitely expecting someone to show up tonight._

_Imagine my surprise when I discover just who it is…_

 

Rey lifts the gun a fraction of a second before he lunges at her, and some tiny part of her hindbrain illogically prevents her from injuring this Alpha. Overriding _years_ of mental conditioning and sheer willpower and stubbornness and even moments of insanity she’s endured to survive against the overwhelmingly dominant forces of biology and fate.

She hates that.

A voice from her past sighs into her. _Weak. Pathetic. He's got you now._

The Alpha's huge hands gently pry the gun from her grasp even as his body crashes her down into the sofa behind her.

Suddenly surrounded by warm muscles and his overly appealing scent, Rey goes slightly limp.

No. She’s _boneless_. Melting under the weight and heat of him as easily as candle wax next to an open flame.

She hates that even more. _Helpless._

Even if she can’t help herself and she knows it.

“Who’s in charge now, Omega?” he whispers, his lips feather-soft against her skin. He speaks quietly but she knows he wants an answer. _Right now._

“You are,” she murmurs unwillingly, even as she presses her face against his neck, desperate in spite of herself to inhale more of his intoxicating scent, hoping it will saturate her skin so she can smell it forever…

She hates it, _hates_ that she cannot resist this. Because she’s resisted for so fucking long, been through years – _years!_ – of training herself to overcome her physical impulses. And he’s unraveling it in less than minutes.

“No. I think _you_ still are…” He chuckles, and it _hums_ into her, the comfortable sound rumbling through her chest like low thunder. She is frozen at his words. _What does he mean?_

His eyes bore curiously into hers, considering.

Up close his pupils are huge and black, surrounded by beautiful whiskey-flecked-with-amber hues, and she wants to sink into them and drown in their endlessly varying depths. He seems as momentarily stunned as she by their physical proximity and the nearly tangible hormones and pheromones and _urges_  threading between them. None of which lend either of them any discernment to reality: Like the fact she is defending her friend and mentor’s home from _him_ , a criminal…

But how can she defend against _anything_ when he ducks his chin and sniffs wolfishly at the side of her neck?

Oh, fuuuuuck, he’s so close to _that spot_ …

She positively itches for him to _touch_ it, or _kiss_ it, or – even better – to _lick_ it and tell her how good she tastes, how delicious and yummy and desirable she is. To tell her how absolutely _delighted_ he is to find her here and how he is going to take _such very good care_ of her…

But he does none of those things.

No, instead he does something even better, pinning her crossed wrists above her head with one massive hand and a surprisingly tender grip. He uses his other hand to yank her hips into a more accommodating position beneath him, eliciting a soft moan from her. His eyes flicker over her face, absorbing her every expression, as if he cannot and _will not_ be distracted by anything.

And then he licks his lusciously full lips, making them shine wet and red and plump, before he _breathes_ on her, a hot deliberate exhale right _there_ , on that place on her neck. A ragged gasp escapes the back of her throat and every instinct she owns begs her to arch into his heated breath and tell him he can have anything, anything at all…if he would just, _please_ …

“Tell me what you want for Christmas, baby,” he demands again, this time with a smile of pure sin.

He rolls his hips and the heavy weight of him presses against the center of her thighs with such explicit intent she arches to meet him.

She moans, giving in just a bit more. Her answer gets caught up somewhere along the way and never quite comes out, but she knows he can smell how much she wants him…

He hasn’t even put his mouth on her, yet.

“Mmmmmhhhh… _you might just make it onto the Nice List after all..._ ,” he growls approvingly. He rewards her with a hot, sucking kiss under her jaw, inches away from the gland on her neck and she squirms against his hips, silently begging him to move his mouth just a little to the right…

His hand, the one not pinning hers into the cushion above her head, roams slowly over her thin t-shirt, lightly cupping a breast, tweaking a nipple carefully, almost reverently, before moving up to cup her jaw. He pushes a thumb against her cheek coercing her mouth to open for him.

And then his lips land on hers and she groans loudly at the dark, compelling _flavor_ of him, as his mouth and tongue slowly and thoroughly plunder hers with all the sure, devouring promise of an avalanche.

His heady taste and scent combine with hers and she cannot breathe or think or muster any concern whatsoever about anything, all hesitation overridden under the swirling hot current of desire coursing through her.

His tongue slides against hers and it _devastates_ her, the silky caress of it demolishing her resistance so surely and completely she trembles with untutored lust.

A car door slams just outside, then another.

“Did you call the police?” He pulls away at the sound and she can only stare at him not comprehending the shift from scalding-hot desire to intense interrogation. He kisses her again, furiously this time, and grinds his hips into her parted thighs until she is sure she’s soaked through her pajama bottoms and likely the crotch of his boxer shorts, too.

“Are the police on their way here right now?” he questions hoarsely against her mouth.

“Yes,” she whispers mindlessly.

“Fuck. That was _very_ naughty, baby…” The hand gripping her wrists tightens in warning and he scowls down at her. 

Red and blue lights flicker steadily against the shadowed walls of the room.

_Those aren’t Christmas lights. Shit. The police are already here._

Her heart drops into her stomach as she realizes he is upset, and she wants to cry pathetically and apologize that he is about to be arrested and it is all her fault.

His jaw clenches a few times and tears form on her lashes.

Several loud raps on the front door interrupt their charged stare.

“Stop it,” he hisses, even as he gives her a pacifying kiss on the nose. “Pull it together. I am _not_ fucking going to jail tonight…”

She inhales a shaking breath and does her best to obey. _Because that’s what Omegas do so well,_  she sniffs crossly to herself.

He leaps off her and drags his pants up from around his ankles, glaring daggers at her so fiercely she cannot move. She might as well be pinned there, still.

“You play along, okay? Or bad things might happen,” he threatens with a pointed finger.

He doesn’t need to say it twice. He’s fucking scary. And goddamn, instead of being terrifying, it’s so appealingly sexy.  

He can tell what she is thinking, she is sure, when he shakes his head at her and smiles faintly, a fabulous dimple indenting his cheek.

Something primitive and aching shivers up her spine at the sight. She wants to jump on him.

Several louder raps echo across Rey’s thickly-layered arousal before an authoritative voice yells, “Miss Johnson? Fairview police!”

Ben strides to the door and opens it.

 _What the hell is he doing?_ she wonders, licking her lips as she watches him.

“Good evening officers, won’t you please come in?” Ben greets them courteously, holding the door open to wave them into the room, completely unselfconscious of his slightly sweaty, naked chest or the massive erection tenting the front of his pants.

With some effort, Rey tears her gaze from Ben’s deliciously rippling muscles and the enormous bulge he’s sporting as two police officers come inside.

One is a male, older, and an Alpha. Rey catches a faint whiff of him through the overpowering scents of Ben and her mingled together... 

The sight of police uniforms and holstered weapons makes her skittish. She wills herself to conquer her nervousness, knowing the Alpha will scent it immediately. This is something she has dealt with many times, and controlling herself is second-nature as a slight rush of adrenaline kicks in.

The other officer is a very tall woman with ice-blue eyes and platinum-blonde hair beneath the police officer’s cap she wears. A Beta, but no less intimidating than her partner. Rey knows traditionally police officers are partnered Alpha to Beta to prevent obvious problems; two Alphas would be nothing but clashing egos and Alpha/Omega pairings tend to end up together. Or not. Either way it causes all kinds of issues...

Rey sits up and considers blurting out the truth, but the subzero chill in Ben’s eyes freezes her. She somehow understands if she says anything or tips off the police in any way…he really might just do something crazy bad. Not to _her._ But to them? Very possibly, yes.

Rey surreptitiously casts a glance around for some sign of her .38 but can’t see it.

_Ben must have shoved it under the sofa or something._

“Sir. We received a call from this location reporting a break in,” the Alpha officer speaks, carefully scanning the room for signs of trouble.

“That was me –” Rey starts.

But, Ben interrupts her. “I stopped by to surprise my girlfriend and she must have called before she realized it was just me being an idiot.”

The officers eye him skeptically before turning in unison to stare at Rey.

Ben goes on, “I, uh, thought it would be funny to show up as Santa…snuck in through the back door – spare key is under the doormat…” He leans in confidentially and winks lewdly at the male officer, Alpha to Alpha, muttering, “And then…well, I _distracted_ her… Thought maybe I’d let her lick the candy cane, if you know what I’m saying?”

The Beta snorts at overhearing Ben’s comment, coolly noting their evident dishevelment and Ben’s unmistakable… _excitement_. Rey sits on the sofa, mouth agape, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Is this your house?” asks the tall, blonde officer, wandering over to the mantel.

Rey knows the officer is already damn well aware whose house it is. She’s dealt with police often enough to recognize a trick question. She finds herself immediately defensive. She does not trust law enforcement of any kind.

“It’s my uncle’s,” Ben answers, a picture of honesty. “Luke Skywalker’s. He’s volunteering down at the Shelter tonight and he asked my girlfriend to hang out… He knew I’d be stopping by to surprise her later for Christmas. Isn’t that right, sweetheart? Weren't you surprised?”

“Um. Yep.” Rey replies shortly.

“Uhhh…there’s pictures of me on the mantel there, if you need proof?” Ben says smoothly. “And Uncle Luke even hung a stocking for…”

The blonde officer cuts off Ben with a lift of her hand. She reads the name on the stocking and glances at Rey with a haughty lift of her brow. “Why didn’t your boyfriend get a stocking…Rey?”

_Oh. This arrogant bitch. Meanwhile, Officer Alpha is probably literally sniffing for clues right now…_

Rey can’t help but flare her nostrils. “Because. I obviously wasn’t expecting him. As he literally just explained to you.”

The blonde woman narrows her eyes at Rey’s snarky tone. _Okay. So I might have to take it down a notch or two._

Meanwhile, Ben is doing an amazing job remaining nonchalant. “Uh. Like I said, there’s some pictures of me on the mantel, but we can call my Uncle Luke to confirm if you want?”

The blonde officer glances at some of the family photos over the fireplace before turning back to Ben, evaluating every inch of him. “Nah, I can tell it’s you. And I know Mr. Skywalker.”

Rey feels a mild spike of jealousy at the woman giving Ben such a thorough once-over, then a touch of relief as she notices how Ben completely ignores the woman’s wandering eyes…

“I’m really sorry we didn’t think to call you back to explain the misunderstanding,” Ben declares sheepishly to the now-leering Alpha cop. “Like I said…we…er, got distracted…”

The Alpha officer stands next to Ben and makes a show of noticing Ben's lack of attire and still-impressive boner. He sniffs the air pointedly and looks back to Rey with a keen glance at her soaked-through pajama bottoms. Her skin crawls as the cop smirks condescendingly at her. “Yeah, yeah… Looks like she was about to let you jingle her bells…” the cop jokes crudely, jostling Ben’s naked arm.

_What a fucking asshole._

Rey’s eyes flash fury at him until Ben shoots her a look of such menace she swallows hard and sits back.

_You play along…or bad things might happen._

“Are you sure you’re all right?” the Beta asks Rey in a quiet aside. She looks genuinely concerned. Maybe she isn't so bad after all. Rey briefly considers telling her the truth. But Ben is watching them like a hawk as he holds the door open for the officers to leave.

Rey nods, then says, “Yes. Thank you.”

“Seems like this is all just a misunderstanding, then… Well, you two have Merry Christmas.”

The officers make their way out the door and Ben wishes them a Merry Christmas before turning back to Rey.

Of course it would be just that easy for someone like him to get out of trouble. And she helped. But she is still going to tell Luke…

Rey stands on shaking legs before he can put her at a disadvantage again.

“Ah, I can hear the wheels turning in your pretty little head, baby,” Ben paces across the room to watch through the curtains as the patrol car pulls away.

“They’re leaving? That is so fucking unfair,” she spits at him, stepping back and glancing around again for her .38.

“What’s unfair?” he taunts, turning the full force of his gaze back to her. “That they believed me? Or that I had you on your back in three seconds flat before they showed up?”

Both. Both were unfair.

He moves to stand in front of her and she is caged-in, trapped. She does not appreciate the way he can do this, how he can corner her so easily.

“You want to pick up where we left off, baby girl?” He rakes her with flagrant interest and her insides quiver with longing, slick drenching her thighs.

Part of her, no, _most_ of her, does very much want to pick up where they left off. It’s nearly irresistible. But the teeny-tiny autonomous piece in her brain wiggles defiantly, insisting _Resist, Rey. You should be the one to decide when and where._

Surprise lifts his brow as he sees it, senses it in her stance. His head cocks curiously to the side, eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring slightly.

“You. You’re afraid,” he breathes. “Why?”

He hesitates for a millisecond before he strokes the back of a long finger over her cheek and her eyes flutter closed at the exquisitely pleasurable touch.

His dark head tilts and he circles around her, scanning her up and down as if she is a statue and he is inspecting it.

No. As if she is a priceless object he has stumbled across unexpectedly. And he is assessing how best to _seize_ it.

Her eyes open to meet his calculating stare. “Please…” she whimpers, and she isn’t sure if she is asking him to please stop or please keep going.

He knows she is conflicted. He can read it on her face…

He repeats the caress and this time he drags his touch down the side of her neck…over _that spot_ …

Her knees buckle, and he catches her against his rock-solid chest, curling his arms around her as if he has every right to lay hands on her…and before she can thrash wildly away, before her mind screams _no! danger! get away!_ , she realizes he does not intend to hurt her.

He simply scoops her up and carries her to the sofa. Instead of laying her down and climbing on top of her to resume their previous encounter, as she expects he will do, he turns and sits, holding her loosely in his lap. She can escape easily, if she wishes to. 

Her heart pounds harder than ever as she contemplates whether or not to jump away or wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him...

He questions her with his gaze. But she cannot muster the courage to explain. So, he asks again.

“Why are you afraid, baby?” He sounds genuinely confused. “You know I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do…right? You know all that…earlier…I just really didn’t want to get shot. I can be nice. I promise...Okay?”

She sucks in a huge, quivering lungful of air. His reassurance does not make this easier for her, and yet...

He might be nice...but she's... How is she supposed to explain?

"Something bad happened to you?" he asks carefully. 

Yes. Lots of bad things. She does not know what to say, but she wants to somehow make him understand, to ease the questioning concern behind his eyes.  

But, how is she supposed to tell him of the years she scavenged and survived in one of the most dangerous vicinities in the country after witnessing year upon year of horrific crimes committed against her kind? How should she describe the many times she nearly became a victim herself? Of how it made her into a fighter and worse? Because of a whim of fate and biology?

No. Not a whim. A curse.

She swallows her pride and says simply, “I’m not from Fairview, Ben. I’m. From Knotting Hill. _Chicago_.”

An unfathomable _something_ flickers in his eyes and he pulls in a breath through his nose. Only someone who's been living under a rock for thirty years would not comprehend the significance of her simple statement. 

And then, when the full weight of it hits him. “Oh. _Oh, my God_ …”

Carefully, he lifts a hand to her hair, brushing it aside until he can see low on the back of her neck.

“You don’t have -? There’s no scar? How?” he whispers. “ _Ohhhhh_ …holy fucking shit.”

_He’s figured out your secret, Rey. He knows what that means…_

Her heart begins to skip and flutter and her belly writhes with a combined mixture of fear and guilt and want.

“You…haven’t? Ever?” He grunts this last from the pit of his belly, as if he cannot grasp it…how a young, attractive Omega has managed to go so long without ever having an Alpha put his hands on her. Ever.

He _knows_. He can _see_ it… And now he is going to ask the question she dreads most of all.

_How? How did you survive, Rey?_

Because there is only one way an Omega girl from Knotting Hill can make it out of that life, let alone survive without being _taken_ …not unless she is a fighter.

And likely a killer.


	3. New Year's Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***OKAY*** Here's my first content warning: This chapter will discuss themes that may be triggering, but not in extreme detail. However, it does allude to human trafficking and drug abuse/addiction. Please consider yourselves warned.

# Chapter Three - New Year’s Revelation

_Okay. So, breaking into Uncle Luke’s house on Christmas Eve is absolutely the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Ironically, I have completely forgotten why I’m even here. That is going to cause some problems later._

_My mother always said I try to do the right thing the wrong way and it would get me into trouble someday…_

_I know Luke will be out all night and not return until late tomorrow morning. And I am so damn tempted._

_Because I know I can probably convince this Omega – Rey – to let me fuck her. And believe me, I want to… She has no clue how easily I can turn the tables, here. I know how to use sex to get what I want. And she wants it, too, even if she’s scared. I can smell it on her. I can sense her resistance fading away with every tick of the antique mantel clock over the fireplace._

_But right now, the only thing I can think about is the terrified look in her eyes when she tells me where she’s from. Because I know exactly what it means. More than she even realizes._

_I should leave. I should go and let her live in peace. She deserves it. She deserves to have a chance at a normal life in suburbia without a fucked-up wiseguy like me complicating her shit._

_I should know better than to stay here, sitting on my uncle’s sofa, holding her in my lap, getting caught up in starting something I can’t ever, ever finish._

_But… I really can’t muster the will to resist the way she’s looking at me. Like she wants me to understand. Like she needs me._

_Nobody’s ever looked at me like that before. Like I’m needed._

_Just her._

 

Ben sits on the sofa in his uncle’s house, holding the most wonderful girl in the world in his lap, and tries to figure out how he is supposed to catch his breath.

He wants to howl at the moon…and rage at the world as he processes what she’s just revealed.

_She’s from Knotting Hill. Chicago._

She is not some innocent little suburban princess who’s been spoiled and coddled all her life. She’s not from Fairview.

Like many areas in Chicago, certain districts are totally controlled by mafia _families_. Crime is organized and rampant.

And the First Order, a very powerful mafia family, is _based_ in Chicago. In Knotting Hill.

The people who live there never get out. Well. Hardly ever.

Most either live and die working for the First Order. Or they just die.

The Crimson Dawn took control thirty years ago, the neighborhood being strategically ideal as a base of operations for the distribution of imported “pharmaceuticals” and money laundering.

When the suppressant shortage hit the country, as new federal regulations put production into gridlock, the economy spun into a recession, driving up the cost of living. The cost of suppressants went up exponentially, of course.

Economics can be distilled down into one very simple concept: Supply. And Demand.

The Crimson Dawn took ruthless advantage of the principle, tightening its grip on the vulnerable and powerful alike. And once the Crimson Dawn’s stranglehold on supply was established, it was only a matter of time before the money started rolling in.  

During the recession, Alphas and Omegas became particularly susceptible to the shortage and subsequent price-gouging of essential drugs. Naturally, the Crimson Dawn was able to take advantage of these people, who were desperate for cheap drugs that would allow them to live their lives…

When Crimson Dawn began importing and illegally distributing large batches of suppressants called _Alderaans_ , the drugs had seemed like a godsend for many; they were inexpensive and relatively easy to find. But _Alderaans_ were new and had not gone through formal clinical trials or long-term testing.

By the time the pharmaceutical industry got off its ass and started producing “government-approved” suppressants again, many people were already just going to the neighborhood dealer for the cheaper, just as effective _Alderaans_. 

Only after the drugs hit the mainstream did Omegas start dying off in droves, as they were most susceptible to the long-term side-effects.

Across the country, other intensely populated areas suffered the worst. And it took months, sometimes years before the full effects of the drugs became obvious: Central nervous system damage, cardiovascular failure, reproductive problems, and for so very many, death.

Even worse, the drugs were found to be highly addictive. By the time people tried to switch back to government-regulated _Endors,_ they found themselves going through severe, sometimes life-threatening withdrawals.

It was only after several wealthy young women of prominent family and old money were dead that anything real was done on a federal scale. Only after the outrage over the loss of a privileged few became a national crisis was the problem finally deemed big enough to foment responsive change. As with any major social movement…it wasn’t nearly enough to undo the damage already caused.

Too little, too late, many said. The scourge of _Alderaan’s_ disease had swept through the country on wings of death before the government could step in to re-regulate suppressant distribution and monitor the supplies coming over the borders.

Leaders for the Crimson Dawn were rooted out, arrested, and some were even prosecuted; some serve time even now, sentenced to life in prison for their crimes against humanity. Others live in hiding, knowing if they are ever brought to trial their fate will end in a death sentence or lifelong incarceration.

The Crimson Dawn lost much of its stronghold on the criminal underworld; however, it became a foundation for the First Order, which evolved into a nearly limitless criminal organization that expanded into one of the most powerful mafias in the country.

Even as the Crimson Dawn was on its way out, the First Order had already emerged, stronger, smarter, and better organized. The First Order leadership immediately discerned the pointlessness of selling now-unpopular drugs to a dying population. And they had also figured out a new angle from which to profit. It wasn’t suppressants in short supply anymore: It was Omegas themselves.

After a decade, laws were passed, politicians politicked, and life went on as normal for most people. But the Omega population had been decimated, and in some parts of the country, like Knotting Hill, over half of the Omegas had died from _Alderaan’s_ disease...

In those places, the ones still left alive only wished they had been killed...

Ten years ago, as the next generation of Alphas experienced a lack of available, viable mates, Omegas became the new currency, hunted and _taken_. Like any other commodity.  

The Omega population is slowly recovering in numbers, but most of them will not be of age for another decade or two, which means the Alpha population is also dwindling.

And the biological predisposition to mate, to _survive_ , will always override the need for…more _genteel_ pursuits of love and courting. Especially in the face of extinction.

Ben knows it still happens, although that, too is a heavily-controlled facet of crime, both within and outside of the First Order: Mysterious disappearances tend to draw attention, so the focus is targeted and exclusive to young Omegas who do not have families or live in a safe, alert community.

Like Rey.

Tentatively, Ben runs a hand along her arm, pulling her close in a silent acknowledgement of the question hanging between them.

_How? How did you survive?_

He does not need to ask. He already knows the answer.

He knows because he’s been a _mafioso_ for over a decade. And more recently, a made man. He took the oath of _Omertà_ for the First Order and everything.

Rey is of an age where she might have avoided getting hooked on _Alderaans_ – they were on their way out well before she would have presented as an Omega…but she is also of an age to be a prime target as a highly desirable mate, particularly for someone with enough money and no moral convictions whatsoever.

“Something bad happened to you,” he repeats sorrowfully. “You were…”

“Hunted,” she states with simple dignity. “I hid for years. I fought a few times. And…”

She’s killed. He knows it. He can see it.

She nods in agreement and he cannot withhold the quiet tremor of wrath that quakes through him. His reaction is not directed at her and he clenches his jaw in attempt to control himself so as not to frighten her.

Nevertheless, the madness of fury spills into his veins, a corrosive combination of acid and fire, as his mind searches for the nameless faces of those who might have hurt her or used her or _taken_ her.

She observes him with a mixture of fear and desire and shame and he can _smell it_ on her and it crushes his heart just a bit, knowing what he knows.

“You took care of yourself...and that’s…amazing.” His puny reassurance is less-than worthless. He wonders how much his uncle has revealed about him and his line of work…

She knows his name – and if she knows _who_ he is, it would not surprise him if she also knows he works for the mob. He is sure his uncle has probably mentioned it.

Why is she not flinching away from him? Calling him a monster?

_She must not know too much, then._

Unconsciously, his lips press themselves together, whether to hold in the secrets of his own wicked reality or to keep himself from ravishing her with kisses again. He isn’t sure.

But she unconsciously braces a hand against his chest, and the timid heat just _there_ , right over his rapidly beating heart, tempts him mercilessly.

Her warm, soft weight against him is something between torture and ecstasy. She perches nervously on his thighs as if she might bolt away at any startling movement. He holds himself very still, despite his persistent need to clasp her roughly in his arms and devour her. To drag his tongue over that sensitive spot on her neck that made her weak with just a touch…

He pauses.

“Just a scavenger…” she argues in a weak whisper. “And something of a coward.”

Her head turns away in shame, even as her fingernails dig lightly into his chest.

_She thinks I hesitate because I find the revelation of her origins and subsequent survival repellent._

Gently, he moves to tilt her face back to him, into his line of sight.

“I don’t _ever_ want to hear you say that about yourself again. Ever,” he growls heatedly. “Do you understand me?”

He glares at her ferociously. If he does nothing else with the rest of his meaningless crime-ridden life, he will make her understand that one thing.

Close, now, they lock gazes in silent communication.

No. It is not silent, just _non-verbal_. Their breathing synchronizes, and maybe even their heartbeats? Ben wonders, sure he can almost hear hers alongside the thundering tempo of his own.

“A coward could not have gotten out of that place untouched.”

He feels remarkably ill-spoken, but he cannot convey with words his conviction that she is _strong_. A fighter… She is physically untouched, yes, but…emotionally, she’s been raked over the coals of hell itself. She’s probably seen things that would make even his blood run cold.

And he has seen some _things_.

Ben has never quite felt the burden and bliss of his designation as he does in this moment. _Alpha._ Protector and predator and guardian and beast.

 _He wants her._ But he can’t…he shouldn’t.

Tears form like little jewels to decorate her pretty eyelashes and Ben allows himself to temporarily escape into her hazel-green eyes. He feels maybe time stretches itself into a small eternity there, in the world-wise depths of her gaze.

She’s bewitched him. He cannot help but glance at her lips, pink and swollen from the rasp of his facial hair when he’d kissed her, trembling just inches away from his… He cannot help but lower his mouth to hers, eyes locked to hers in question – _Is this okay? Can I kiss you again?_ – to take a cautious sip of her sweetness just once more.

Just once more.

_I won’t hurt you, sweetheart. I promise._

She sighs, and her lashes flutter closed at the wary probing of his lips and tongue. That soft surrender will be his downfall, he is sure of it…

He cannot help but shift her slightly, changing the uncomfortable pressure of her hip against his erection until it becomes marginally less painful. The angle is better now, and he can slant his lips over hers more thoroughly. She does not resist, although he resigns himself to the knowledge he will not be taking this encounter beyond a passionate kiss. Well. Maybe just a little beyond a kiss…

As desperately as he wants more, that is not what is best for her.

But he will kiss her and savor her and when he can’t bear it anymore, he will thread his fingers into her silky hair, pulling it just slightly against her scalp as she wraps her arms around his neck. Until aching desire lodges in his throat and threatens to choke him.

_Yes._

Her fingers slide into his hair and longing unfurls in his gut, low and hot, before driving into his groin on a spike of lust.

He _wants_ her and this is killing him. 

He wants the scent of her to stick to his skin and soak in and mingle with his until it never leaves him. He grunts at the thought, unleashing himself just a little more into the dark, enticing idea of somehow permanently embedding her into his skin …

“Can I, baby?” he groans against her mouth. “Look at you?”

Her hands convulse, pulling his hair in answer. He’ll take it as a _yes_.

His grip tightens instinctively, pressing her against his painfully hard erection and he rubs himself against her hip and pulls up her t-shirt, so he can put his hand on her naked skin. Her rigid nipple spearing into his palm nearly undoes him then and there…

She hisses through her teeth at the pleasure and he marvels at how small and soft and perfect she is under his touch. He cannot tear his gaze from the sight of his large hand on her, how it swallows her breast completely, warming her velvety flesh with his heat.

He plays with the rosy tip of her nipple and revels in her shocked, fervent moans.

She’s never…done this before. He shuts down his rampaging lust as best he can, although he is sure he does a half-assed job of it.

He wants her to like this… He wants to hear her _say it._

“Tell me…” he pulls her close to him and dips his head to suck that silky, pebbled little bud at the tip of her breast. “You like this?”

“Oh! Yes,” she groans, and she sounds pained as he blows softly over the tight peak. “Ohhh…”

“Say it, baby…” He sucks again, harder, and her body arches into him as if she’s been jolted by an electric current.

“I do! Like that…Please…” she sighs. “Please…more…”

She doesn’t even know what she wants, he realizes.

But he knows what _he_ wants. 

He wants to make her feel good, this sweet girl who is afraid of herself and maybe of him, too, and stronger than she knows. And he wants to show her it’s okay. That he can _be good_ to her without turning into a rampaging animal…

“Can I touch you?” His voice is hoarse with hunger.

Her eyes glaze over and she is near-gone with lust and she whispers against his naked collarbone, “Please, oh, please… _Alpha_ …I need…”

She calls him Alpha and he knows it’s all just in the heat of the moment, but it triggers something, something ancient and worshipful and dominant and protective. He does not hesitate to jostle her pajama bottoms down, snagging her panties along the way, bending her over his arm.

He slides a finger into the slippery-wet crease along her inner thigh and grunts at the heat coming off her. A flicker of panic crosses her face before easing into supplicant entreaty.

“I’m going to take care of you, baby, okay? Just my hand…promise,” he vows even though the thought of fucking her, of knotting her, nearly kills him. That is not what she needs right now, and he will give her what she needs. Because this girl, this little Omega, needs him to prove that most Alphas aren’t just wild, rutting animals. That she should _never_ fear him. That he would die before hurting her…

He sweeps his finger against the damp, flushed lips of her sex, and he cannot breathe, and he cannot stop himself from tumbling over the edge of desire as he reclaims her mouth. He strokes her again, this time pushing his thumb against the tight nub of her swollen clit and her hips jerk against his hand.

“God, you’re so sensitive,” he mutters in awe. “…and you smell sooo  _delicious_ …”

The scent of her…its unraveling his mind, that blend of cinnamon and citrus and warm cookies and arousal, and he fucking _needs_ it… She stares at him, pleading for relief.

He pulls her close and works a second finger between her slightly-parted thighs and kisses her with the sole objective of emptying her mind of everything but him.

He kisses his way down the side of her neck and this time he does not avoid the place he wants to touch. Earlier, he merely had to exhale there in a mimicry of marking her with his breath. He’d stroked his finger over it and she’d crumbled right into him…

But, now…he would kill for just a taste.

Slowly, he swipes his tongue over the sweetly-scented gland aside her neck and she groans and shudders and clenches around his fingers. He groans, too, enchanted and enraptured as her essence dissolves on his tongue, the finest of ambrosias…

“Fuck! You taste... _mmmmhhhh_...absolutely divine…” his voice is barely recognizable, too low, too hungry. He licks her again and strokes between her legs and she’s drenching his fingers and giving him the most gorgeous little moans of passion... He dips his head for another taste and hears the faintest of whispers… _“Yesss…Alpha…”_

_Oh, fuck, yes...my Omega..._

He swipes his tongue over her again and she quivers beneath him...

Tasting her is his new religion and in doing so, he finds enlightenment, Nirvana, and paradise all wrapped up in one.

He plunges his fingers into her silky heat, a mimicry of sex, and he feels her tightening and pulling inside, her hands grasping and clutching in search of an elusive _something_ …

“It’s okay…you’re okay…I’ve got you…just let go…let go for me…” he commands gruffly.

He sucks ardently at her neck and she squeals in pleasure and – _fuck! Is this going to make her come? Just from this?_ – he does it again and she arches into him and her body is jerking and shuddering against him and it’s a miracle to watch her fall apart…

A goddamn marvel to witness her writhe under his hand and mouth and know he’s making her feel good, and she is not _alone_.

That she does not have to take care of herself alone.

She's perfect. She could be the one. No, not _could be_. He knows without question: It's her. He couldn't have found a more perfect match if he'd tried, not that he ever really had. His world shifts on its axis, shaking him to his core. 

She gapes at him, amazed, gasping for breath.

Her eyes widen as he slides his hand from between her legs and deliberately, lustfully sucks his fingers into his mouth, humming at the exquisite taste of her.

She watches him, astounded, then sets her head on his chest.

She murmurs, “Thank you…Ben...”

Part of him enjoys a touch of satisfaction at the gratitude. He kisses her hair and tucks her into him, smugly contented it had been he who put that blissed out look on her face.

 _She is quiet when she orgasms_ , he thinks, _just soft breathless whimpers_ , and he wants to make her _scream_ …

And then it occurs to him why she might have learned to be so restrained, so _noiseless_ , and black rage surges through him all over again.

_How did you survive?_

The unstated question from earlier is pounding down the door of his conscience with the answer he cannot bring himself to speak aloud.

He does not need her to tell him. He already knows.

Ben wills himself to not become visibly upset. He knows damn well the only reason this girl is sitting here without a mark on her – without a very _particular_ mark on her – is because she’s fought and killed.

He’s not judging. He’s done his own share of killing.

No. He’s trying very hard to not lose himself in fury over the idea she even had to.

He’d never really had to confront that side of his life before.

And he knows now, too, _this_ is why Rey is here tonight. Luke knows Ben will not be able to resist learning about this girl.

And Luke knows the girl will fight back. Because she always has.

Luke knows Ben will figure out where she’s from.

Luke is still trying to sway Ben from his life of crime by dangling a very real, very serious example of how Ben and the First Order hurt people…

_Oh, Luke. Another point to you. Match. Game. And set…_

Her eyes flutter closed as she drowses against him, warm and sweet and perfect. Her breathing grows steady.

He can’t resist gently sweeping her hair away from the back of her neck, rubbing the silky strands between his fingers.

She is sleeping, Ben realizes after a few minutes.

_Ah, hell._

His heart cracks wide open at her slight gesture of trust. He is not worthy of it. But, this is _heaven_ and he will take what he can get while he has the chance.

Because he knows the only way to keep this girl safe is to stay far, far away from her. And that will be hell enough when the time comes.

He stares at the back of her neck, at the one _thing_ , the one part of her he now covets more than anything. More than money or sex or air or freedom. And he thinks.

For a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The oath of Omertà is a vow of silence taken by those in the mafia. Breaking the vow is punishable by death.


	4. Like A River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: This fic has been tagged for graphic violence. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Bishop Briggs, River](https://open.spotify.com/track/3mRLHiSHYtC8Hk7bzZdUs1?si=Kp-jWpdDQtuvvyQtmGkoDg)

# Chapter Four - Like A River

 

_Time heals nothing. Whoever said it heals all wounds…maybe they’ve never really been wounded._

_I should know._

_Time flows like a river. Sometimes the river drifts lazily. Sometimes it floods, scrubbing along the riverbanks with such ferocity I am pulled under and cannot breathe…but it always leaves behind debris. Littering my mind with doubt and questions. And wondering what could have been, if things had worked out differently._

_It might have been easier if he hadn’t left his t-shirt at Luke’s place that night. Christmas Eve. Three and a half years ago._

_His scent has almost entirely faded from the fabric of the t-shirt. I almost washed it, once, just so I could stop torturing myself with it…_

_I will never see him again. Or smell that mind-shaking combination of freshly turned earth, and cedar, and clove and…just a hint of gunpowder…and sex…_

_I will never have a chance to ask him if maybe he’d left it there on purpose. For me to find and wonder if it had been deliberate…or if it was just another abandoned mistake. Like me._

_I tell myself I’ve moved on. And in many ways, the rivers of time have carried me a very far distance from the girl I used to be._

_I live on Wisteria Lane now, and I am a member of the homeowner’s association and everything._

_I have friends, too. Wonderful friends who hang out with me and support me and encourage me…for the most part they can get me through just about anything._

_Sometimes I almost, almost forget that Night ever happened._

_But it’s there… Time cannot wash it away, no matter how much flows by._

_It torments me…I can’t…I will never get over the fact Ben Solo could have been the One…_

_I couldn’t have found a more perfect match if I’d tried. Not that I’d ever tried all that hard._

_So, when I woke up on Christmas morning and he was gone. Well. That was tough. It hurt._

_Was it rejection? Was I not…enough, somehow? And if…if he didn’t like me or want me, then why did he take what he did?_

_I dwell on this more than I should, even though I know I will never get answers._

_But it was so much worse when Luke told me Ben Solo was dead._

_I tell myself I’ve moved on._

_But. I really, really haven’t._

_Time heals nothing._

_The rivers of time cannot cleanse him from my thoughts._

_And sometimes it rages through me, eroding my sanity down to the bedrock. Until the only thing left is the question that will never be answered._

_Why?_

 

**Somewhere on the Chicago River, present day…**

Kylo Ren pulls the collar of his trench coat around his neck against an unseasonal blast of chilly wind and turns away from the churning dark waters roiling in the wake of the freight boat.

The weights attached to the body his men just dumped overboard pull the corpse quickly down into the swirling river. Only a few surface bubbles linger to remind anyone Crokind Shand ever existed.

And even those disappear quickly.

Ren's eyes glint dangerously in the low light, a warning to anyone who might approach him. He is not in the mood to chat tonight, and he hopes his people will leave him the hell alone.

He prefers a moment of privacy, a quiet retreat as he hunches against the cold metal siding of the freighter’s cabin to smoke a cigar and contemplate what he has just learned. And the recent circumstances which brought him here…

Three days ago, Snoke called him in for an audience and explained – somewhat wrathfully – of reports he’d received.

“Another outfit, Kanjiklub, is moving in on First Order _business_ ,” Snoke hissed. Kylo could _smell_ the man’s palpable outrage, even though Snoke is not an Alpha.

Kylo sometimes wonders at the force of will required for a Beta to maintain such an unflinching grip at the head of a major criminal organization.  Especially with a hugely disproportionate number of Alphas on the payroll, Kylo himself included.

Nevertheless, although Snoke’s designation might be that of Beta, he rules his _family_ with an iron fist.

Snoke is older, in his mid-sixties, Kylo guesses, but canny and utterly heartless when it comes to running the First Order. Although Snoke is of a shorter physical stature than many – only five feet, eight inches – the force of his personality strikes so intensely, he might as well be seven feet tall.

Physically unassuming, Snoke still owns a full head of wavy, salt-and-pepper hair, as well as a full beard, neatly trimmed and silver through-and-through. His pleasant mouth is usually slightly turned up into a semi-permanent smile, as if he finds the world a funny place and he cannot keep his mirth from showing.

But Kylo knows the man to have no humor or joy within him.

Although Snoke’s appearance is friendly enough at first glance, Kylo does not misinterpret this as congenial. Ever. Anyone assuming Snoke holds the traits of kindness or mercy will soon find themselves gravely mistaken. And probably dead.

 _One needs to look at the eyes_ , Kylo thinks. It is always the _eyes_ that reveal the truth, a window to the soul. And Snoke’s icy-blue gaze only reflects the bitter hardness and uncompromising resolve and the unrelenting, _absolute_ power of his position, _Don_ of the First Order.

“Follow the money trail and exterminate everyone involved. Down to the fucking _source_ ,” Snoke ordered, pounding his fist onto the polished surface of his carved mahogany desk. “Do what it takes to send a message. An _obvious_ one. You understand?”

Kylo bowed and replied simply, “Yes, Boss. Consider it done.” He’d understood his dismissal was implied and turned to leave Snoke’s presence immediately.

Snoke does not tolerate delays. Nor does he accept mistakes.

It takes two days for Ren’s people to unearth Shand, Leech’s second-in-command, from a filthy back-alley bar and hold him on the freighter until Ren can arrive to personally witness the interview.

Shand is strapped to a makeshift interrogation table and, under the very practiced hands of Ren's interrogator, he finally admits the location of the source of Kanjiklub’s money-laundering operation.  After two increasingly gruesome hours.

Ren is thankful he has schooled his face into a mask of impassivity. At the end of Shand’s forced confession, Ren’s heartbeat kicks into an unsteady tempo upon hearing the man’s final, harshly whispered words.

“…Fairview…Wisteria Lane…”

 _Last I knew, Luke Skywalker lives on Wisteria Lane._ _And Rey. She lives in Fairview. Or she did as of three years ago..._

 _Fuck_.  

Ren nods to his men to finish off Shand and prepare the _message_.

And there will be no misunderstanding what is to be communicated: This is purely a message job, after all.

Crokind Shand is shot once through the eye, and a fresh bullet is pushed into the bloody hole in his eye socket.

Message to be sent: _The First Order sees you. We are watching._  

Another shot through the mouth, and a bullet placed on Shand’s tongue will convey the second message: _This man is a rat. We made him talk. We know everything._

Duct tape over the eye and mouth will hold the bullets in place before the body is loosely weighted down and dumped in the river. Once the weights fall away, the body will be found, and the message will be received: _DO NOT FUCK WITH THE FIRST ORDER._

Crokind Shand will not be missed.

Well, no. Ren is sure Kanjiklub’s leader, Tasu Leech, will miss the man. But Ren cannot muster much sympathy for Leech, who was stupid enough to try loan sharking anywhere remotely near Chicago. Although loan sharking is only a small part of the Order’s overall… _business portfolio_ … it is enough to prompt a firm response to Kanjiklub’s attempts. Snoke will ensure any and all threats are eliminated on principle alone.

The engine of the boat vibrates loudly, humming through every part of the freighter and into Kylo as the captain changes trajectory and speed to arrive at the dock and allow his dubious passengers to leave.

Kylo moves from where he’s been leaning and smoking and steps onto the ramp, noting idly how his men stand aside respectfully, allowing him to disembark first.

His mind is a whirling, pitiless maelstrom of apprehension, although he is sure no emotion shows through the blank mask on his face.  

_…Fairview…Wisteria Lane…Rey…_

Kylo will need to go there personally and eliminate the source of Kanjiklub’s money laundering operation, which funds their burgeoning loan business. They cannot be allowed to continue.

Part of him knows it isn’t a terrible idea to leave town for a while anyhow, especially after Shand’s execution. People will be after him soon enough, not that he cares… Still, Shand’s body will not be found for a day or two, which means Kylo will have time to get out of town.

He walks around a dilapidated warehouse and finds his car waiting for him, his driver holding open the door at Kylo’s brisk approach.

All Kylo wants right now is to inform Snoke the First Order’s message has been delivered and try to sleep.

Maybe he  _will_ sleep tonight. Maybe he won’t dream of _her_ , like he has done every single night without fail for three and a half years. Maybe tonight he won’t remember her mouthwatering, flawless scent or the feel of her satiny skin under his hands or the taste of her on his tongue.

Maybe he will forget the incredible sensation of the way her tight little cunt clamped around his fingers when she finally let go…the way she trusted him and obeyed his softly uttered command – _It’s okay…you’re okay…I’ve got you…just let go…let go for me…_ – before she’d orgasmed against his hand.

And after when she’d _thanked_ him…the way she’d looked at him…

It haunts him without mercy, the thought she is likely doing that and more with someone else, now.

_Thank you…Ben…_

But, he categorically refuses to forget that moment, and so he will have to live with it forever branded on him, _in_ him.

A soft curse escapes his lips and jealous bile rises to the back of his throat.

_She is a shard of glass scraping endlessly at the back of my mind._

He approaches the open door of his sleek black sedan and nods briefly to his driver before he slides in, alone.

His men disburse themselves in different directions. He pulls off a black leather glove and his hand almost unwillingly creeps into the chest pocket of his suit jacket, seeking the souvenir he’d taken years ago.

She’d fallen asleep in his lap, half-naked, after letting him kiss her and lick her and fuck her with his fingers. He’d held her for a long time, her warm curves resting sideways across his lap. He'd stared longingly at the back of her neck for hours before glancing over to the end table where a roll of tape and a pair of scissors sat within reach.

Someone had been wrapping presents, apparently.

In a moment of sheer selfish foolishness, he’d separated a lock of her hair and snipped it away. He’d hoped she wouldn’t notice.

Then he’d tucked her onto the sofa with an extra blanket, slipped her .38 into her stocking, and crept stealthily from the house before she woke. Before he lost his rapidly diminishing willpower. 

Because if he’d had to look into those gorgeous hazel eyes and explain himself…he never would have had the strength to leave.

The silky texture of his keepsake soothes him as he stares hollowly into the infinitely flickering lights of the city moving past him.

_It was right for me to leave. To keep her safe._

Leaving had definitely been best for her. He tells himself every day he made the right decision. For her, at least.

For him?

As he’d known it would be when he left her asleep on Luke’s sofa all those years ago, it’s been hell. Harder than he’d expected, actually…

But he is pretty sure that particular level of hell will be _nothing_ compared to the hell of having to face her again.

 

 _Wisteria Lane is the most boring street in the most boring town of all time_ , Rey thinks lazily as she swirls the straw in her mason-jar cocktail.

“Need a refill, neighbor?” Poe brings the pitcher of vodka lemonade over and splashes more into Rey’s glass before she can reply.

“Thanks!” She grins winningly at him, glancing up at Poe’s earnest, handsome smile. His olive skin and dark, curly hair emphasize his sultry, hooded eyes and playboy allure, making him quite possibly the most charismatic person she has ever met.

_He just can’t help himself from trying to charm every single person in a two-block radius…_

“Might as well drink up. Finn’s gonna be _at least another hour_ on the grill.” Poe raises his voice with false impatience, so it carries across the deck.

Finn, who has just turned up the gas and lit the grill, whirls around in mock chagrin. “You can’t rush the perfection of my ribs!”

Poe winks at Rey and wiggles his eyebrows, in silent agreement with the double-entendre. Finn catches the gesture and chuckles, swatting at his partner’s backside with a towel.

Finn is younger, but just as handsome as his partner, if not more so. Finn’s smooth, dark skin and chocolate-brown eyes can disarm a person instantly with his youthful appeal.

Rey knows Finn well enough to understand he ruthlessly uses his initial appearance of childlike, friendly innocence to conceal a razor-sharp mind and something of a cutthroat competitiveness which serves him quite well as a lawyer.  

Since moving onto the lane, Finn has opened a family law practice and Poe is finding his bliss as an aspiring novelist. Their easy relationship fascinates Rey, who, before coming to Fairview, has never been exposed to such candid, open displays of affection in couples.

“How’d you two meet, anyhow?” Rey queries, leaning back into her seat, a cushioned wicker chair on the front porch of Finn and Poe’s house.

“Oh, you know, just luck.” Finn tosses the words over his shoulder as he fiddles with the dials on the grill and methodically arranges his grilling utensils as if prepping for surgery.

“Good luck?” Rey prompts.

“Not sure yet.” Finn is clearly being sarcastic as he shoots a look of adoration at Poe.

Poe snorts into his own cocktail and Rey laughs out loud.

They have been Rey’s neighbors for two years and became instant friends on the day they moved onto the lane. Rey helped them unload boxes and furniture and then brought over a large bottle of tequila to welcome them to the neighborhood.

When they invited her over for dinner the next week, the trio unknowingly started the tradition of “Margarita Mondays.” They’ve been doing this for years, and Rey loves it.

The sun is warm on her face, and Rey feels a rare, perfect moment of joy, as she sits on the front porch of her friends’ lovely, cookie-cutter house, listening to them take turns retelling the story of how they met.

Rey’s thoughts wander as she hears the story again for at least the fifth time: Poe was managing a cattle ranch and Finn was a lawyer for an animal rights activist group.

Finn was visiting the ranch to speak with the owner and Poe met him at the tiny local airport, loaning Finn a jacket for the frigid 42-mile truck ride back to the ranch. On the drive, they discovered a mutual interest in animal welfare…and each other. Things had taken a happy turn from there.

The faint smell of propane from the grill hits her nose, but Rey does not find it unpleasant. In fact, with a jar of chilled vodka-something in her hand, she thinks she is well on her way to becoming nicely buzzed.

Halfway through their meet-cute story Poe sloshes more alcohol-laden beverage into her glass. It isn’t always margaritas on Mondays, but it is always something boozy. Rey wonders if she is becoming something of an aspiring afternoon lush.

She scents the instant Finn lays the ribs on the grill and exclaims, “Mmm! That smells yummy, Finn. I’m starving.”

“I can’t get over how good your sense of smell is…” Finn shakes his head.

He and Poe are both Betas and have not encountered many Omegas. Although Finn has dealt with his share of Alphas – apparently being an asshole lawyer is a career choice many Alphas seem to gravitate towards – he still finds Rey’s Omega-ness something of a mystery. Or so he constantly tells her.

Rey doesn’t mind. She knows Finn does not make these comments out of spite or ill-will. If anything, his open acknowledgement of it makes her feel comfortable.

She is the only resident Omega on Wisteria Lane. Her friends and neighbors try not to make a big deal about it.

The breeze flaps the ties of the hot-pink crop top at her neck and Rey feels a momentary shiver.

“I’m going to run home real quick and throw on a wrap,” she announces, jumping up from her seat.

She is halfway across the lawn when Poe shouts, “Don’t forget to bring that coleslaw back over!”

She twists around part of the way and gives him a thumbs up.

Rey’s own house is also very much a cookie-cutter, which fits right in with the rest of the neighborhood. She always beams as she approaches the cheerful yellow house, with its white shutters on the windows and white picket fence.

She works hard for this home, and she loves it almost like a person. The house is a symbol of just how far she’s come, how much she’s changed from the person she used to be. A nobody, from nothing. And now a businesswoman and homeowner…part of the community…

Her sandals slap smartly against the brick pavers leading to the bright pink front door.

Painting the door hot pink was one of the first things she’d done when she bought the house two and half years earlier. A small, but not-too-crazy act of independence that had unintentionally caused unhappy murmurs from a few homeowners on the lane, nonetheless.

At Rey’s first homeowner’s association meeting, a handful of old-timers protested the color outright, declaring “a hot pink front door is not in accordance with the look of a quiet, respectable neighborhood.”

But she knew they were _really_ concerned about her being an Omega; conservative communities like Fairview have always held unfounded prejudices against Omegas, she very quickly learned. Uneducated people believe Omegas will turn into perverted sex freaks several times a year and corrupt the innocence of their family-oriented social structure.

Most people didn’t really understand how things worked. Particularly for _her_. She is sure they would never have believed it if she told them she was a virgin. Although it was none of their damn business what she did in the privacy of her bedroom...

Nevertheless, Rey had unknowingly opened herself up to this deeply-ingrained prejudice when she painted her front door…and she’d worked very hard to overcome the neighborhood’s reticence about her morals and worthiness as a fellow citizen…

She smiles to herself as she takes a bowl of coleslaw from the fridge, securing plastic wrap over the top and reaching for a light sweater draped over a tall chair.

She hears a large truck pull up across the street but is too lost in her memories to be curious. Usually, spying out the kitchen window, which overlooks almost the entire length of the street, is one of her favorite hobbies.

She is remembering, though, the day after the homeowner’s meeting…

“Fuck ‘em! Those uptight pricks.” Phasma had stated practically, as Rey sat on her neighbor’s couch bemoaning the unfairness of discrimination. If it hadn’t been for the Hux family’s support, Rey probably would have changed the color of her door immediately and turned into a hermit, too cowed at the thought of disapproval to leave her house.

Turns out, Phasma lived on the corner and had been on maternity leave from the Fairview Police Department when Rey had knocked on the woman’s door asking for some honest advice.

Rey knew Phasma would be candid with her, because Phasma had been one of the officers to show up a year earlier, when Rey had called the police after Ben had broken in and…

In a moment of weakness and sensing a semi-friendly listener, Rey had broken down and told the heavily-pregnant woman her whole life’s story: Rey had no family, no friends, and everyone hated her.

And now, the one Alpha she’d ever been even remotely interested in, the one who she’d dreamed about and sweated over and ached for and fucking _longed_ for like nothing else…was gone.

Luke had just explained to Rey that very morning, after a year of pining and wondering why Ben left her on Christmas Eve: Ben Solo was dead.

“What happened? If I may ask?” Phasma said, more gently this time as she paced in front of Rey, rubbing her back.

“He – he – he!” Rey wailed.

“Cheated? Did he hurt you? I’ll fucking kill him…” Phasma was ruthlessly succinct and apparently quite protective.

“Yes! I mean…He _left_ …But, n-n-no. You…can’t kill him. He’s DEAD.” Rey sobbed, broken-hearted.

“Oh. Fuck. Sorry.” Phasma was rarely at a loss for words. This was not one of those times.

Phasma, always practical, if slightly chilly, calmly leaned down and patted Rey firmly on the back.

“Well, shit. That explains the crying.” Rey sobbed harder as she realized nobody else in the world knew or cared about her predicament. Even Luke had disappeared after telling Rey his nephew was dead…

It took Phasma a full hour to coax the whole story from Rey. Of how, after they’d almost _done it_ , Rey had fallen asleep. She’d awoken the next day to nothing but a t-shirt stuffed under a pillow and a strangely stubbly patch of hair at the back of her neck.

“My _Alpha_ is dead. My life is _overrrrr_! I’ll never have children… _orrr_ ….” Rey knew on some level she was being a tad dramatic, but Phasma was so sympathetic it was difficult not to unburden her pent-up feelings.

“Listen. Rey.” Phasma shook her shoulder gently. “Rey!”

Rey looked at her pathetically, tears swimming in her eyes.

“I have five children. And another on the way any minute, now! And I’m telling you, I’m not the maternal type. And all my kids are barely hanging on...” Phasma was trying to be reassuring. “I’m almost positive most of them will turn out okay,” she amended. “I mean…probably. Number Two and Five will, for sure…but motherhood is a _complicated_ , fucking _thankless_ job…it’s not all it’s cracked up to be…” Phasma referred to her children by their birth order more often than by their actual names.

Rey ignored her. She knew Phasma was just trying to make it out to be awful for Rey’s sake…

Rey sniffed, “Maybe I should look into artificial insemination. They’d let me do it, what with the population... I’m an Omega. The chances of me having more Omegas are high…but then I’d still be _alone_ …”

“Well…marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be either,” Phasma mused pragmatically. “I swear some days I should’ve…”

“B-but, you have a great husband! Someone to keep you company and share your life with… You have someone to _help_!” Rey wailed.

“Ugh. Sometimes it’s like having an extra child, honestly. Believe me. Having a husband isn’t always the most helpful thing.” Phasma rolled her eyes emphatically. “I swear to God he’s worse than the children sometimes…”

Rey looked up at her, bewildered.

 _“Well that’s a_ charming _thing to say!”_

Phasma’s husband, who had walked through the back door at some point, arms full of groceries, slammed it shut and glared at his wife.

Rey knew it was just posturing, but still felt slightly uncomfortable she had been letting her neighbor bitch about her husband’s uselessness while he stood there listening. For some reason, the whole scenario was made worse by their British accents. Or better.

Rey sniffed, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Phasma, without turning her head to her husband, asked him, “How much did you overhear?”

“Ugh.” Hux groaned and dumped two armfuls of grocery bags onto the counter. “New neighbor, pink door, nobody likes her, forever alone... Dead...er, boy…friend?” His voice trailed off as he busied himself unpacking food from the bags.

“But now what am I going to do?” Rey whispered. “I can’t live like this. I can’t go through life thinking about him non-stop. I’ll never find someone who smells like hiiiiim!!!”

Phasma rolled her eyes and yelled towards the kitchen, “Armie! Bring wine.”

“You’re PREG –” and “You’re fucking pregnant, Phaz!” Rey and Hux spoke at the same time.

“Bring _juice_ then!” Phasma deferred to Rey’s mild outrage without missing a beat. “For fuck’s sake,” she muttered under her breath, giving Rey a conspiratorial wink.

They spent the next hour discussing how Rey was going to get through the next few months, cope with … things… and in Phasma’s words “fucking survive.”

Phasma was almost clinically pragmatic, and Armie, or Hux, as the rest of the world referred to him by his last name, made himself surprisingly inconspicuous and helpful, wrangling their children to the back yard as they arrived home from school in shifts and generally keeping them out of the way while the ladies talked.

Eventually, it was time for Rey to leave, but Phasma had promised to give her full support, whatever Rey needed.

Phasma’s dry sense of humor and encouragement was not lost on Rey. It made Rey feel better to know that if people like Hux and Phasma could procreate and not totally suck at it, then she could probably handle singlehood on Wisteria Lane.

Rey knows her entrance into quiet suburban life had not been as understated as she’d hoped. There was nothing against a hot-pink front door in the bylaws, so they couldn’t _make_ her change it.

But she would need to work extra-hard to prove to everyone that she was just as morally upright and community-oriented as anyone.

It had taken all of Rey’s considerable charm to convince the residents of Wisteria Lane that, while young and single, she was _exactly_ the kind of neighbor they wanted, Omega or not. Over the next few months, she baked many, many batches of cookies and made many more overtures of friendship to her neighbors. Some were more receptive than others, but eventually they all caved. It was impossible for them to dislike her.

Six months later, Finn and Poe had moved onto the lane.

Eventually, things got better.

Rey’s business took off and even more importantly, she gained a family of sorts. Her neighbors are as close to family as she can get. It would have to be enough.

Rey’s life has flourished in so many ways, and she has nothing but gratitude for it all. But she still senses something is missing…and it is something she can never get back.

On a somewhat sad note, Rey holds the coleslaw in one arm and walks outside, returning to Finn and Poe’s for ribs and more alcohol.

Everything is as it should be.

Until it isn’t.

The truck across the street stops idling as the driver cuts the engine, and Rey notices it is a moving truck. She feels a lurch of anticipation at the thought of new neighbors finally moving into the Skywalker house. A pleasant excitement seizes her – the house has been vacant for a long time, and Rey wonders if they will be good neighbors.

Halfway across her yard, she waves to Poe and Finn on their front deck, holding up the bowl of coleslaw. A movement catches the corner of her eye, and she notices a well-muscled arm hanging out the rolled-down driver’s side window of the truck.

At first, she averts her gaze, not wanting to be _that_ nosy neighbor – Maz Kanata already has the reputation for craning her neck the minute someone new pops up on the block.

But as Rey glimpses inky-black hair and long, long legs stretching from the now-open door of the moving truck, she does a double-take.

_No. It isn’t possible._

Her neck snaps back and up to meet the whiskey-brown eyes of the man hopping from the truck to the street, and time stands utterly still, a river frozen in motion.

“No,” she whispers.

She hears Poe calling her name, faintly, over the buzzing in her ears.

“No.” _Stay calm._ “That’s impossible.”

 _Ben_.

_He’s back._

And as his eyes meet hers, the bowl of coleslaw drops to the ground, shattering on the paving stones.

Waves of shock jolt into her.

Her vision constricts into an ever-narrowing tunnel until it is a pinprick of light.

Everything rushes in, a wild, cascading waterfall of awareness…and she crumbles into a dead faint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I don’t know anything about the mafia except for movies and Wikipedia and Google.
> 
> A message job is literally a murder that sends a specific message: Through the eye means "We're watching you!" and through the mouth means someone WAS a rat.


	5. Big, Brass Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben receives an interesting welcome to the neighborhood from Rey's friends...

# Chapter Five – Big, Brass Ones

 

_Remember the original reason I went to my damn uncle’s house that night? Yeah, me too._

_Luke had something of mine and I was supposed to get it back._

_I got into no small amount of trouble for forgetting. Snoke was furious._

_And then…Well, I ended up in prison for a while, so…well, I’d hoped Snoke would forget about it._

_Prison sucked as much as I knew it would. And when I got out, I was busy. With stuff._

_Anyhow. Back to present day. I’m telling Snoke about Shand’s confession and it only reminds him of Fairview, Wisteria Lane, and Luke fucking Skywalker all over again._

_Snoke gets all worked up over how my uncle might have a particularly damning piece of evidence against the First Order and the Alderaan scandal all those years ago. Luke hasn’t come forward with it, yet. But he might._

_Personally? I’m starting to think it doesn’t exist. But Snoke is a suspicious, paranoid motherfucker. He won’t let it go now it’s been brought up again._

_I mentioned I’m not too smart, right?_

_I should have just told Snoke the truth: I didn’t even look for the goddamn ‘evidence’ because I was busy making my life a living fucking hell by falling for a girl I have no business being around... I should have told him the only thing I walked away with that night was a lock of Rey’s hair and a belly full of angst..._

_But, I didn’t tell Snoke the truth. Instead, I told him I hadn’t found anything at Luke’s and…_

_Yeah. I know. I lied. Mobsters do that just in case you weren’t too sure._

_We lie. We cheat. We steal. We kill. Pretty much all the bad stuff, okay? We aren’t the most morally upstanding guys, y’know?_

_And, well. I am a bad guy. The worst._

_That’s why I knew I had to stay away from Rey. Because she’s a goddamn angel if I ever met one. And I’d have contaminated her with my sins if I’d stuck around. Fucked up her life real good._

_At least, that’s what I told myself, for all the good it’s going to do now..._

_So, you can imagine my dread when Snoke tells me to go back there after all this time, to Wisteria Lane, to find out where my uncle disappeared to…and to root out the source of Kanjiklub’s money-laundering operation…and to lie low from the heat after whacking Crokind Shand…_

_I’ll have to stay in Fairview for a while because of this last reason, at least a few months, Snoke figures. He seems…almost glad to have me go. I suspect he is still testing me, seeing if I will turn against the Family for my family._

_Not a fucking chance._

_And Kanjiklub trying to move in on our operation is unacceptable…so, I’ll take care of it…but, well…I am worried Rey will still be in town. I’ll have to avoid the hell out of her if I can. Unless she knows where Luke is…_

_Anyhow. I have one of my guys buy Luke’s house for me under an assumed name; apparently the place has been vacant forever._

_I figure Luke’s old house is a good place to start looking for clues. I can tell people I’m remodeling if I have to tear into the walls…and it might just still smell a little like her, if I’m lucky._

_How was I supposed to know she lives right across the fucking street? There is absolutely no way I can stay away from her now…_

 

Rey comes to where she had fallen in the middle of her yard, coleslaw smashed all over the brick walkway. Her neighbors hover over her and she listens to them, trying to get her bearings before she opens her eyes.

“Should we call 911?” Finn whispers in a hushed voice.

“Nah, she’s waking up, look. Rey? Honey are you okay?” _That’s Poe._

“I’m calling Dr. Erso…maybe she can drop by and check on Rey…”

“Jyn’s still at the hospital…”

“Oh. How do you know her schedule, Poe?” A hint of jealousy.

“Because she told me she’s working till five tonight, sweetie. When I asked if I could interview her about gunshot wounds for my book…” _Poe is so patient…_

“Oh. Okay. Well, it’s almost five…I think we should ask her to come take a look when she gets here…”

The voices belong to her friends. They are worried. She is lying on the ground.

_How did that happen?_

Rey’s eyelids flutter, and she hears _that_ voice.

“Maybe she shouldn’t move just yet…” the voice says. _His_ voice.

Ben's voice.

Her eyes snap wide open. Finn and Poe squat on either side of her, but there is a massive shadow blocking the sun. Unwillingly, Rey’s eyes drag themselves up, up, up to meet the inscrutable expression of someone she never thought she would see again.

“Ben?” She groans, squinting up at him. “You’re…alive…you’re…not…dead…”

“Dead?” He replies cautiously.

“ _Why_ aren’t you dead? Luke told me you were, ages ago!” Rey’s voice is getting louder. She lifts her head.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Ben retorts. He stands very still.   

Finn and Poe watch their exchange like a tennis match, and Poe stands first to confront the stranger in an _almost_ antagonistic tone.

“Oh! You’re the guy? The Alpha?” Poe knows exactly who Ben is. Because Poe attends the weekly ladies’-and-one-gentleman’s poker game on a regular basis and has heard Rey talk all about him. Profusely.

_Oh. Shit. Poe. Don't say anything embarrassing._

Poe’s dark eyes flash, hostility etched across his face. Finn, cradling Rey’s head in his lap, echoes Poe’s expression as they both glare at the newcomer.

“Yeah. Why aren’t you dead, guy?” Poe growls. Poe has seen Rey cry on more than one occasion over Ben leaving her alone at Christmas…not to mention he knows most of her whole sordid history. Most. Not all.

But her friends know enough.

“We knew each other. A while ago.” Ben seems reluctant to give up any information at all, his face a mask. “I – I wasn’t expecting this…”

“Yeah, pal, well I don’t think _she_ was either.” Poe is growing more belligerent by the second…

Finn adds, “Dude, that is fucked up, what you did…”

Rey catches a whiff of aggression and testosterone firing up and whispers Ben’s name before he snaps somebody’s arms off. Because he looks unbelievably dangerous right now, in spite of his white sneakers and dorky green track pants. And bright yellow tank top that is _sinfully_ molded to his bulging pecs…

_Shit. It should be illegal for someone to look that good. Especially on moving day._

At the sound of his name on her lips, Ben ignores Finn and Poe, completely focusing on Rey, who remains sprawled on the ground.

“Can you please not talk about me as if I’m not right here?” Rey grits out, lifting her head and glaring at Poe. Finn’s dark eyes immediately turn back to her, unsure as to whether he should let her up.

“Is this your house?” Ben fixes his intense gaze directly on Rey, as if nothing else exists.

“Yes.” Rey is dizzy. She just wants to lie down.

Ben steps forward and kneels, without asking permission or showing any sign he’s even noticed Poe or Finn’s existence after his brief statement. Although they hover protectively, Ben easily lifts her.

Reluctantly, she wraps her arms around his neck. She wants to touch him, to feel his hot skin under her hands and his silky hair slide through her fingers, but…

But, his scent is making her even dizzier…it’s _sooo_ good…better than she remembers.

“Door locked?” he asks her, striding to it without looking back. Rey shakes her head, bringing her nose perilously close to his unyielding chest.

“Hey!” Poe and Finn both shout at the same time, exchanging a “can you believe this guy?” look before starting after her. They mean to follow her inside, but Rey, still woozy, waves them off somewhat weakly.

“It’s okay, guys. I know him. It’s Ben.”

Ben opens the hot pink door, easily maneuvering her through it, carrying her bridal-style. He gently kicks it shut in the faces of her two very concerned neighbors.

_I’ll have to figure out things with Finn and Poe later._

He carries her through the entry directly into the living room and sets her down carefully onto her couch.

 

 _Shit_. He thinks when he sees her from the truck. _Shit, fuck, shit!_

He is in front of his uncle’s house, no _his_ house, now, on Wisteria Lane, the house he is supposed to move into, so he can blend quietly into the most boring neighborhood in the most boring town of all time and do his job for the First Order…

He opens the truck door and spots her instantly, the girl he’s been dreaming of for three and a half years.

She strides across the lawn in a hot pink crop top, a light sweater pulled loosely over tanned shoulders. Her scandalously cut denim shorts don't do a damn thing to cover…anything.

Even from across the street, he can see her taut, tan belly under the crop top she’s wearing. An odd lurch of possessiveness spears into his gut like a red-hot poker. He scowls.

_Dammit. She’s prancing around the neighborhood half-fucking-naked …_

She has just called out to the two men next door – good-looking men, Ben acknowledges grudgingly – but her head turns slightly, and her eyes meet his before he can fold himself back into the driver’s seat as inconspicuously as possible to hide and figure out what the hell he is supposed to do next.

He freezes, watching her eyes widen in shock as she drops a bowl of something and it smashes to the ground. His plan to hide and speed away dissolves on the spot.

He understands what is happening two seconds after her neighbors do, and they all run to her at the same time.

The neighbors vault over the porch railing, running at full speed before crouching on either side of her fallen form.

Ben is too concerned about her stillness to be too immediately jealous, but it slams into him a moment later as he realizes these two male fucking _supermodels_ are putting their hands on _his_ Rey.

They _know_ her. They are _touching_ her. And she is practically fucking _naked, passed out on the front lawn_.

One - the younger, very handsome dark-skinned man with short black hair - has gently cradled her head in his lap, and Ben wants to rip the man’s arms off for touching her.

But when the young man calls out, “Rey, Rey!” Ben hesitates, noticing how his eyes flare with concern to the _other_ one – who happens to possess the sculpted face of an archangel – and he stops completely. Angel-face is holding Rey’s hand, and Ben wants to kick his teeth in.

She is also waking up and seems to be having trouble with the fact he isn’t dead.

So, Ben does the only thing that makes sense. He lifts her into his arms and gets her alone.

He missed her, and the warm, soft weight of her against him is unbearably arousing.

He is immediately enthralled with the scent and feel of her and some back corner of his brain tells him she smells the _same_ – _exactly the same_ – as he left her.

 _No other Alpha, then._ _Good._ Because he has just now experienced a moment of total clarity: If there had been another…that person would be a walking dead man.

Ben carries her to the front door of her house, and he is sniffing at her hair like a hungry animal, because, well, maybe he _is_ a hungry animal and he’s been starving and he can’t fucking help himself… He’s a combination of freaked out and relieved and overwhelmed and dammit, he wants to strip off her clothes and push her legs open and bury his face in her...

But, he owes her an explanation. Actually. He owes her a lot more than that.

_Get a grip. Now is not the time to rip her clothes off and ravish her. Plus, those guys might try to come in and make me leave. And I’m not going any-damn-where._

Ben is pretty sure he can easily kick her neighbors’ asses if they try to come inside and throw him out…but they don’t.

When he enters her house, he knows he has to do _something_. Rey is now fully awake, but rather limp in his arms, and the sensation of her warm skin brushing against his very nearly overwhelms him. He carries her to a couch, vaguely noticing the warm peachy tones of the living room, the homey clutter, and the faint smells of baking and candles underlying the delicious sweetness of Rey's scent.

When he sets her down, he immediately feels empty. As if half his heart has been ripped away. His arms hang awkwardly bereft at his sides.

Her eyes catch and hold his as he looms over her. The connection is a palpable force between them.

“After all this time,” she mutters, mirroring his thoughts exactly before slumping back onto the pillows and closing her eyes.

 

Rey keeps her eyes closed, in part because she isn’t entirely sure she won’t pass out again and partly because staring up at Ben is giving her a crick in her neck.

She tries not to breathe so noticeably, but she cannot resist inhaling several deep lungsful of air. Because the air now smells like _him_ , and it is fucking incredible and it is here, in her house. So much more potent than his abandoned t-shirt from years ago...

_Ben is back. He is here. In my living room._

“Can I…bring you some water? Or something?” His voice is so deep, like dark velvet, and it brushes over her in ways she cannot begin to understand.

“Sure. Water’s good,” she whispers, withholding herself from begging him to hold her so she can feel the heated tension of his muscles wrapped around her again. She knows the illusion of security is just that: An illusion.

_Am I hallucinating?_

She tries to sit up, but he looms over her, gently pressing her back into the pillows. His hand is like a branding iron on her shoulder.

“Stay there. It’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

 _“You sure about that?”_ she snaps acidly. The look he slides her way as he walks around the couch answers her question with both an apology and rebuke.

Yes. He’s still kind of scary. But in a sexy way…

She hears him walk into her kitchen and open a few cupboards before finding a glass, the sound of the tap running, the sound of water filling a glass. So normal. For such a surreal moment, Rey finds even the _sound_ of someone pouring a glass of water bizarre under the circumstances…

She sits up as he brings her a glass and takes it from him, careful not to touch his hand. She is not prepared for the scent of him, his touch, his look, his _anything_.

Closing her eyes, she drinks down half the water before noticing he isn’t sitting, he is just standing there, almost gawkily, staring at her as if she’s sprouted horns.

“Well?” She bites out. “What the fuck?” Not her best reaction, but she is rattled.

“You thought…I was dead?” He says it cautiously. His face is a mask, eyes revealing only a hint of concern.

“Yes, I thought you were _fucking_ dead!” she mutters, glaring at her glass of water so hard she is surprised it does not shatter.

And then it hits her like a thunderbolt straight to the chest. Ben Solo worked for the mob. She’d overheard Luke talking about it a long time ago. Is he still involved with that bullshit? Is that why…?

_Why would Luke tell me his nephew is dead and then disappear?_

Ben takes a deep breath to explain, but a slight knock on the door interrupts whatever he is about to tell her.

Dr. Jyn Erso pokes her head in and calls out lightly, “Rey?”

 

The first thing Ben notices about the tiny brunette woman entering Rey’s house is her white lab coat and stethoscope draped around her neck. The second thing he notices is she is an Omega…

This must be the doctor Rey’s neighbors were talking about. Good. It will be good for Rey to have a medical professional make sure she’s okay…

“Hi, Jyn,” Rey mumbles from the couch. “Come in.”

Ben steps back, unsure of his place in all this but loathe to leave Rey alone after such a dramatic semi-reunion.

Ben towers over the doctor by a good foot, which should intimidate her, but somehow the woman’s presence emanates a quiet confidence that can only come from years of remaining calm in a crisis. He wonders what kind of doctor the woman is.

_Jyn. Rey called her Jyn._

In spite of himself, he’s half-hard just from being in Rey’s house, this close to her, surrounded by her smell as the lingering warmth of her still tingles over his skin. He wills his dick to settle down, but he fears it is a losing battle.

The doctor’s bright, intelligent gaze scans over him avidly and curiously.

“Finn flagged me down and said you fainted in the front yard,” Jyn says finally, glancing away from Ben’s hulking form down to Rey.

Ben stays quiet as he watches the doctor sit on the edge of the couch next to Rey and competently examine her for a concussion or other signs of trauma from the fainting spell.

“Why’d you faint, Rey?” Jyn asks, as she looks into Rey’s pupils with a tiny penlight she pulls from the pocket of her lab coat.

“I…erm…had something of a shock just now…” Rey mutters.

“Something of a shock in the way of that strapping, broody Alpha over there?” Jyn glances at Ben with a slight smile and Ben decides on the spot he likes this doctor.

“Yes. Jyn, meet Ben. _The_ Ben. Of the formerly dead-or-so-I-thought. Ben, Dr. Jyn Erso,” Rey introduces as Jyn begins listening to Rey’s heartbeat through her stethoscope. Ben notices how Rey’s cheeks pinken just a bit and realizes Rey just referred to him as _The Ben_.

That can't be good, can it? That they talked about him? And the neighbor guys seemed to know him, too… _Huh_. _Shit. Does the whole neighborhood know about me?_

“Nice to meet you,” Ben says sincerely, albeit cautiously. He will tread carefully until he knows more...

“Likewise,” the doctor says, keeping her eyes on Rey. “So, Ben? You still work for the mob? Is that why you abandoned my friend, here, all those years ago?”

 _Fuck._ Apparently, they’ve talked about him _quite_ a bit.

“No, ma’am,” he lies smoothly. Technically, everyone works for him, so…

“Your uncle told Rey you _died_ … Any explanation for that?” Dr. Erso prods, checking Rey’s scalp for bumps and bruises. This Omega has a bold streak. Like Rey. Unusual.

“No, ma’am,” he says sincerely, this time. Although he has a few good guesses as to why Luke might lie.

“You’re moving in across the street? Planning to stay for a while this time?” Dr. Erso’s questions hold a bit of an edge, now, and Ben feels his face heat with … _is this embarrassment?_

“I am. Yes,” he answers. _Define ‘a while,’_ he thinks recklessly.

This Omega doesn’t pull her punches. She delivers them so subtly, he doesn’t see them coming. 

“What do you do for work, Ben?” the doctor asks, prodding carefully at Rey’s neck and shoulders.

Rey allows it, but Ben senses she is uncomfortable with anyone touching her anywhere near her scent glands or the mating gland at the back of her neck. He almost snaps at the doctor to leave Rey the hell alone when he realizes the doctor has paused and is waiting for an answer.

“I’m in the garbage business.” This is a euphemism for being in the mafia, he realizes stupidly. So, he backpedals. “ _Was_. In it. I’m independently wealthy from… my previous business ventures…” he offers lamely.

He’s being simultaneously interrogated and shamed, he realizes, and she’s doing it so smoothly, he barely notices… Yes. This little Omega doctor is definitely a force to be reckoned with. In spite of that, Ben cannot dislike her.

His respect for her slides up a few more notches…

Dr. Erso lifts a brow at his fumbling reply but says nothing. She instructs Rey to say “Ahhh” and shines her little flashlight into Rey’s mouth.

Rey keeps her eyes on her friend during the entire interview, but Ben can sense when she relaxes infinitesimally as he answers the doctor’s questions.

There is another perfunctory knock on the front door before it opens, and Ben’s adrenaline kicks in just a bit as a very tall, very blonde police officer walks into the house without an invitation.

_Aren’t they supposed to get permission before they just waltz right in?_

And then. _Shit. It’s the cop from Christmas Eve three-something years ago._

“Rey. Finn saw me headed to work and said I should check on you. She okay, Jyn?”

“Yeah, she’s good.” Jyn smiles at the police officer and Ben realizes they are all friends. _Fucking perfect._

“Finn always thinks the sky is falling when it comes to any tiny little crisis…” Rey murmurs.

“Well, he looked worried. He said some big guy made you faint and then basically kidnapped you off the front lawn.”

“Ugh, Finn. Just being dramatic.”

“Hmmm…” Phasma’s eyes crawl over Ben and he feels like he is being X-rayed.

“I’m Ben,” he preempts her cool evaluation and extends his hand.

She merely looks at it until he flops his arm back down. Ben decides he does _not_ like this one.

“I know who you are. I remember you,” Phasma replies without introducing herself in return. An obvious rebuff. A long pause. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

Phasma tilts her head to Ben and asks if she can speak to him just outside. Phasma keeps her face pleasant, but Ben can look her directly in the eye.

He follows her with a cool, “Yeah. Sure,” knowing Rey can watch them through the window.

But Ben is not a big, bad mobster for nothing and he can read most people like a book. He has no doubt this cop is about ready to do her best to intimidate the hell out of him. Bust his balls a little...

They square off looking to any casual observer as if they are merely having a friendly, concerned conversation.

_This ought to kill the rest of my boner, for sure._

He arches his back and broadens his stance just a bit. He resists the very strong urge to crack his neck.

She’s as tall as he is and doing an impressive job of layering on just the right amount of steely threat in her stance.

Ben does not allow himself to reveal a thing. He’s faced down scarier motherfuckers than this woman.

_You talk first, lady. Go ahead._

“I may be just a Beta, but I’m a cop and a mother, and I can always sniff out trouble…and you smell…” Phasma leans a fraction of an inch in Ben’s direction and sniffs. Her lip curls up. “… _suspicious_ …”

Dr. Erso comes outside and stands quietly next to Phasma, obviously eavesdropping.

“I am only going to say this once, so I hope you are listening…” Phasma remarks, and Ben swallows, clenching his jaw. “If you so much as hurt a _hair_ on that girl’s head…”

Technically, he’s already hurt the hairs on Rey’s head when he stole a lock of it three and a half years ago...which, if he thinks about it too much was probably about the creepiest thing he could have done… He wonders if Rey told her friends he'd done that...

Erso continues earnestly, “Um. What Phasma is trying to say is, if you mess with Rey’s feelings, or hurt her in any way, we will seriously fuck up your shit…" She nods her head and looks for all the world like she is talking to a Sunday school class. "I know how to make it look like an accident…”

“…and I know how to hide a body…” Phasma states placidly and gives him a huge fake smile.

He looks over to Erso who is also smiling at him, all false charm. He realizes Rey can only see their shoulders and faces through the window.

_Fuck. These two…are quite the team._

Ben smiles back and snarls through bared teeth. “I cannot believe you are fucking threatening me right now. I could have your badge and your license for this.” He tilts his head to Erso but maintains Phasma’s stare.

“For what?” Erso asks innocently. “I didn’t hear anything..." She bats her lashes at him and he shifts uncomfortably under that omniscient gaze. "Go ahead. Report us. Who are they going to believe?”

Phasma sniffs and Ben gives up. They really are just trying to protect Rey from being hurt. He can’t fault them a bit.

Dr. Erso senses it and smirks.

Plus. They’re right. Nobody would take the word of the mysterious new guy with the shady past and conspicuous lack of explanations over the word of a respected law enforcement officer and medical professional.

Phasma keeps talking, dead-serious. “If you make a single _mark_ on her…or do anything, _anything_ at all that might make that precious girl in there sad again, I swear to God, I will hunt you down like a dog and take you apart piece by piece. Starting with your very _favorite_ pieces…”

Phasma smiles with such charm it truly takes him by surprise when he feels her vice-like grip clamp around his balls.

 _Shit._ She’s grabbing his crotch right there in front of Rey’s house, bold as can be. Ben looks over to Dr. Erso to see if she’s witnessing the blatant assault.

Erso stares up at him with the flat-eyed gaze of a predatory bird. _Oh. Great. She’s witnessing it all right..._

Phasma’s hand does not move, and Ben understands the threat loud and clear.

He gulps again but will not be cowed. He keeps his best poker face in place.

“Something to add to your collection?” he taunts recklessly.

Phasma grins and Ben has never seen a more stone-cold sneer. “Exactly.” She gives him a squeeze and a bit of a twist. He withholds a gasp of pain only with effort. “I’m _so_ glad we understand each other so perfectly.”

Ben is stunned, despite himself… If he ever needs a cold-blooded heavy to whack someone…he’ll definitely consider calling this bitch.

“Tell you what,” Ben says slowly, making sure to get their full attention with his deadliest voice. He grabs Phasma’s hand on his crotch and gives it a noticeable squeeze before flinging it away. “If I hurt her in any way, I’ll chop ‘em off personally and mail one to each of you ladies.”

He is pleased to note the flicker of surprise cross their faces as they exchange a glance before he walks back inside.

As he closes the door and turns to Rey, he overhears them muttering to each other.

“ _He’s definitely got a pair of big, brass ones, that’s for sure...”_

_“Really? How big?”_

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter [@beegood_amy](https://twitter.com/beegood_amy) for updates to my ever-growing smut collection and occasional tweets. XOXO!
> 
> My works, if you are interested:  
> [Little Animals](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19902718) (DARKFIC, SMUT, Read the Tags)  
> [Music To My Ears](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15121106) (REBOOTING - Classical Music/Assassin AU)  
> [Every Which Way But Loose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19742149) (A/B/O, drug lords & yachts, short WIP)  
> [Bad Neighbors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17874359) (A/B/O, Enemies to lovers/cop/lawyer AU, COMPLETE!)  
> [Say It With Feeling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710287) (Funny, slow-burn Sugar Daddy AU, WIP)  
> [Smoke Gets In Your Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231210) (short WIP, stoners, smut)  
> [Cake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17457971) (Darkfic, thriller, WIP, almost done)  
> [Devil on the Dark Side](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16287023) (Modern Fairy Tale, WIP, almost done)  
> [Knotting Hill](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17038721) (A/B/O WIP, will be picking up very soon)  
> [Special Order](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16836562) (one-shot)  
> [GatorWestern](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15502323) (Vampire/Horror WIP, almost done!)  
> [Freak Show](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1098873) (Circus AU, Comedy, one-shot series)


End file.
